


the streets are getting restless (good times, bad decisions)

by anarcho-totalitarianism (orphan_account)



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Nonbinary Character, Other, it's kind of set in canon but not really?, posadist is mentioned once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23089708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/anarcho-totalitarianism
Summary: In which Ancom couldn't seem to fall asleep, so Ancap takes them on an adventure.
Relationships: Ancap/Ancom, Libunity, libleft/libright
Comments: 18
Kudos: 115





	the streets are getting restless (good times, bad decisions)

**Author's Note:**

> hi. i swear this was supposed to be ironic. this wasn't supposed to be almost 5k words long. im so sorry greg.
> 
> ancom uses they/them here and there are alternating povs because good and consistent storywriting is a spook. have fun

No matter what Ancom tried to do, they just couldn’t seem to fall asleep. 

They wanted to blame this on the faint sounds of some anime episode playing from Ancap’s room on their right, or on Tankie’s Das Kapital audiobook playing through the thin walls on their left, but really, it was almost definitely on themself. They probably shouldn’t have snorted so much Adderall right before bed. 

_ His economic bondage is both brought about and concealed by the periodic sale of himself, by his change of masters, and by the oscillation... _

Yeah, this wasn’t going to work. 

With a sigh, Ancom sat up, rubbing their eyes before standing up from their bed. At the very least, they knew that both Ancap and Tankie were awake at this hour. That was good. They did not like being alone in the middle of the night. (And  _ no _ , it had nothing to do with them being afraid of the dark. Nazi is a filthy fascist and therefore whatever he said could never be trusted because he is a filthy fascist.) For a moment, Ancom stood outside their door, considering which door they should knock on. They were no stranger to crawling into Tankie’s bed sometimes, having no trouble falling asleep in the warmth of his arms, but after remembering their argument with him at lunch, they shook their head and turned to the yellow door on the right. Tankie’s been a bitch all day; It wouldn’t do them any good to pay him a visit at this hour.

“Go away, Commie! I _ will not _ resume our dispute at  _ this  _ hour! I need my beauty sleep!”

To that, Ancom giggled a bit. So it wasn’t just them that had suffered from Tankie’s foul mood earlier in the day. In a way, that was comforting. Libertarian unity could be found in strange places.

“It’s not the Tankie,” Ancom called out, “and you’re clearly not sleeping. Open up, Ancap.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the door creaked open, and Ancom felt their breath catch in their chest upon seeing Ancap. Out of the four of them, Ancap was the most notorious about grooming, insisting on maintaining his pristine appearance and picking out the best outfits even when he had no intention to leave the house. He took thirty-minute showers, his hair was perpetually caked in gel. 

And maybe that was why Ancom found themself so  _ affected  _ by the sight of Ancap in his natural state. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, his hair was slightly ruffled, and there was something adorably bleary about his expression. His ridiculous fedora and sunglasses were sitting on his nightstand.

“Fine. I guess you can stay for a bit.” His words came out grumbly, but there was more fondness than bite to them. He moved to the side, and with a tiny grin, Ancom stepped onto the luxury wool carpet of his room. 

Ancap decorated well, but he never kept his room nearly as clean as the brutally straight-edged Authoritarians. Everything adhered to this beautiful yellow and purple color scheme that he kept, but several of his blazers were strewn over the ground. He had been watching some school-themed anime with cute girls on his giant flatscreen. It made Ancom wrinkle their nose a bit. 

Ancap sat back down on his bed, and without a second thought, Ancom curled up next to him, resting their head on his lap. He let out a surprised chuckle, then began to run his hands through their hair.

“What’s wrong, kitten? Can’t sleep?” 

“Mm.” Ancom shifted, spreading out onto the bed. “Maybe not. Maybe I just wanted to see you.” 

“It was the Adderall, wasn’t it?”

“You’re starting to sound like Tankie,” Ancom mumbled sleepily. 

Ancap laughed, a sound that made Ancom’s world vibrate for a moment. “Right. I’ll stop.” He scratched the top of Ancom’s head, drawing a purr out of them. “But seriously, you of all people should know that stimulants disrupt sleep. That’s like, drugs 101.” 

“Whatever.” 

They just stayed like that for a moment, with Ancom curled up in Ancap’s lap and Ancap lightly stroking their hair, high anime voices drowning out Tankie’s late-night Das Kapital. Ancom felt themself slowly begin to drift to sleep, but that was stopped by a sudden bout of curiosity.

“Wait, what did you and Tankie argue about today?” They asked, looking up at Ancap. 

“Why do you ask?”

“He argued with me, too.” Ancom sat up, all drowsiness gone from their system like they’d just taken another dose of that Adderall. “He was in a weird mood all day, wasn’t he?”

Ancap scoffed. “He’s always like this.”

“Not with me.”

“Of course, kitten. You’re his...Anarkiddy.” 

There was something unreadable in the way he said that, but Ancom decided not to dwell on it. With a yawn, they sprawled back over Ancap’s lap, and Ancap immediately wrapped his arms around their shoulders. 

“Whatever it is, I hope he stops getting on my shit. I’m not a child. When will he ever  _ get  _ that?.” 

“Mm.” 

The anime episode was over, but Ancap made no move to start the next one. It was like he was simply refusing to disturb Ancom, and that made their heart melt just a little bit. 

“Hey,” Ancap suddenly said.

Ancom looked up, curious. “Hey.”

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“Now? In the middle of the night?”

“It’s just as good a time as any.” A smirk rose on Ancap’s lips. “The auths can’t tell us what to do.”

Ancom thought for a moment. They’d just gotten over their issue of not being able to sleep, it seemed, and they were very, very tired. But then again, any chance to spite the auths-- especially Tankie--

“Okay,” they said, sitting up on the bed. “I’m down. Where are we going?”

Ancap shrugged. “Haven’t really thought of it. Just anywhere, I guess.”

“Alright,” Ancom said, matching Ancap’s smirk. “Just anywhere it is.”

* * *

“Really, Ancap? A  _ limo _ ?”

Ancap hummed, putting away his phone and putting an arm around Ancom.

“We needed transportation. That’s what limos are for.” 

Ancom was shifting uncomfortably in their seat. Sure, Ancap’s brought them to many high-class establishments, occasionally takes them on expensive dates, but they’ve never quite been in their element in these situations. He supposed that he couldn’t fault them; they simply weren’t used to these things. Plus, they have a diametrical ideological opposition to capitalism and the upper class in general, but Ancap preferred not to think about that.

“I get that,” Ancom said with that adorable pout of theirs that made Ancap’s heart palpitate whenever they did it. “But we could’ve walked! Or, I don’t know, stolen Nazi’s Volkswagen!”

“Theft of private property violates the NAP,” Ancap explained, trying to keep his cool. “Even if it’s the statist. Hell, even if it’s  _ Commie _ .”

He felt Ancom lean into his touch, and, not for the first time, he wondered if they knew what they  _ did  _ to him sometimes. He wondered if they knew that they had this ability to reduce him to a blushing, ruminating mess. 

Now, Ancap hardly believed that humans can act out of any reason except for personal gain, so Ancom must be like this on  _ purpose _ , right? Why else would they act like this with him all the time? 

“And you call yourself an anarchist,” Ancom rebuked, seemingly about to drift to sleep. “Private transportation for the rich is killing the earth.” To that, Ancap smiled fondly and ruffled their hair.

The limousine was, admittedly, a bit too large for both of them. Ancap reached over to grab his flute of champagne, and he heard Ancom quietly protest when the movement disturbed their sleeping position. There were neon lights along the ceiling and lined above the seats, and the cool glow of the interior mirrored the streetlights that lit up the night outside.

Ancom was asleep now, their head was resting against Ancap’s neck, their breaths deep and even on his skin. For a while, they sat in silence, until the vehicle stopped and Ancap shook them awake.

“We’re here, kitten.”

“Where?” Ancom said with a yawn.

Ancap gave them a light smile. “Just anywhere.”

Ancom practically had to be carried off of his seat in the limousine and goaded into the bar, but Ancap hardly minded. They fit perfectly in his arms, and they hardly made a fuss. However, as soon as the two of them stepped inside, Ancom straightened themself, suddenly wide awake. 

This was one of Ancap’s favorite places to go alone, partially because of all the pretty lights, and mostly because nobody ever batted an eye at the people doing cocaine in the bathroom before a business deal. The fact that he was here with Ancom this time only made it about ten times better.

Ancom took a moment to look around, to take in all the lights and the decorations that must have cost tens of thousands of dollars in total. For a moment, Ancap found himself feeling smug about taking them somewhere that left them flabbergasted, until they suddenly began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Ancap asked with a frown.

“Nothing, nothing,” Ancom assured him with a nudge. “This place is just. So  _ you _ .”

“I’m not sure if I should feel offended by that.” 

“You totally should,” Ancom said with a chuckle. “Come on, let’s go grab a seat!” They grabbed Ancap’s hand and raced across the floor. 

Ancap ordered a cognac for himself, and Ancom just wanted some beer. With the nature of the establishment, the bartender side-eyed them at that request, but he obediently slid them a bottle of some generic brand IPA. 

(It wasn’t a secret that Ancom could hardly handle their alcohol. They’ve never won a drinking contest between the four of them, but then again, neither has Nazi. The real competition was between Ancap and Commie, but Commie usually ended up winning; that statist often drank vodka and baijiu for  _ breakfast _ .

At the moment, thinking about Commie made Ancap’s blood boil. As ideological opposites, they had their disputes, sometimes even more so than Nazi and Ancom, yet...Ancom was right, Commie has been acting extra prickly the past few days, but Ancap honestly couldn’t find it in himself to care.)

“To libertarian unity?” Ancap proposed, raising his brandy snifter.

“To Libunity!” Ancom smiled and clinked their glass against his. “Speaking of Libunity, do you have any DMT on you?”

Ancap frowned. “Well, no, but I do have my business cocaine…”

* * *

After a ludicrously long night of bar hopping and drug abuse, the anarchists were absolutely exhausted and extremely blazed, so Ancap booked them a hotel room for the night. That worked for Ancom. They didn’t really feel like waking up back at the house, especially when Tankie’s been blowing up their phone this entire time. 

And of course, Ancap wouldn’t have settled for a cheap motel or even a four-star establishment. No. This hotel had a minibar with fifty-year-old scotch and pillows stuffed with ostrich down or whatever, and if Ancom had any energy left whatsoever, they would be  _ pissed  _ at their fellow anarchist (‘anarchist’). 

Worse, there was only one bed, but when Ancom brought this issue up to Ancap, he just grinned slyly. Bastard. 

“Sorry, kitten,” Ancap told them with zero hint of remorse in his voice. “Sometimes, it’s simply necessary to cut costs.”

Ancom pointed to the ceiling. “ _ Cut costs  _ my ass. That’s a fucking crystal chandelier.”

“Yeah, nothing I can do about that.” Ancap curled up, hugging the silk sheets close to his chest. “Are you coming to bed or not?”

With a resigned sigh, Ancom plopped himself down onto the bed and into Ancap’s arms. They supposed that Ancap can have this one victory, just this one time. He’d gotten them out of the house and allowed them to escape the sound of Tankie’s theory through the walls. They owed him one.

For being someone who largely refused affection and human contact without the promise of some kind of transaction, Ancap has always been an excellent hugger. Where Tankie was hot like the steel factories during Stalin’s five-year-plans to facilitate the development of heavy industry in the USSR, Ancap’s body always seemed to stay in the market equilibrium of the ideal cuddling temperature.

Ancap. Oh, Ancap.

Ancom lived in a house with three other absolutely radical ideologies. They had a bone to pick with every single one of them, and Ancap was no exception. They hated how he glorified a system that propped up so many unjust hierarchies, a status quo that caused so much suffering and inequality and exploitation. 

And yet, Ancap was more than that. He didn’t talk to Ancom like they were a child in need of reprimand, like Tankie, and he tried his best to respect and accommodate them wherever he could. He claimed to do everything for personal gain, yet he was constantly going out of his way to make Ancom feel safe and shit. 

“I appreciate you, Ancap,” Ancom whispered to the room once they were sure that the other anarchist was asleep, once they felt his breaths begin to even behind their back. “Thank you.”

Silence. For a second, they thought they heard Ancap mumble a quiet “you’re welcome,” and that made them laugh because that’s a very  _ Ancap  _ response, but they’d all but fallen asleep before the memory could be implanted in their mind.

* * *

Ancap examined himself in the mirror for a moment, hair still wet from showering. He hadn’t thought that they were going to be staying the night outside of the house, so he hadn’t brought any of his luxury-grade hair gel or bristle combs or makeup. Alas. With a shrug, he threw on his suit jacket and stepped outside the hotel bathroom. It’s whatever. He’s naturally gorgeous anyway.

Ancom hadn’t moved from their position on the bed, hoodie down, eyes still glued to their phone. Ancap walked over to ruffle their hair, and they yelped in response.

“Took you long enough,” they grumbled. “I thought you drowned in the shower.”

Ancap sat down next to them and rested his head on their shoulder. Ancom was currently fighting someone in the comment section of some news article. The word ‘nazi’ was mentioned in their comments so many times that it made Ancap’s head hurt. A text popped up on the screen, which they immediately swiped away. It was from Commie.

“Should we go home, kitten?” Ancap asked, “The others must be missing us.”

“ _ Hell _ no.” Ancom put their phone away and stretched, smoothly wrapping an arm around Ancap. “What are we going to do next, Ancap? Watch the stock market? Go to an auction for a painting of a blue dot? Recreationally nuke the ocean?”

Ancap grinned. “All excellent ideas.”

“Wait, no, not actually--”

“But no,” Ancap continued with a chuckle. Ancom was pouting again. Cute. “I was thinking we should go eat. There’s this brunch place I’ve been meaning to try for a while.”

“ _ Brunch _ ,” Ancom said mockingly. “How fancy. Let’s go.”

Ancom refused to ride a limo again, so they simply called a yuber or whatever that funky app service thing was called. Every service to fulfill every demand. Ancap hardly understood many of the new startups popping up these days, but the joys of the free market did warm his cold, gilded heart.

In hindsight, it probably would have been better to inform Ancom that the brunch place was located on the highest floor of one of the city’s highest skyscrapers. When the anarcho-communist realized that the elevator wasn’t going to stop at the tenth, twentieth, or even thirtieth floor, they began to kick up a fuss. 

“For the last time, I’m not scared of heights, I just don’t like them!” Ancom insisted, holding onto Ancap’s arm for dear life.

“I thought you loved getting high,” Ancap said, poking their cheek. 

“ _ Ancap _ .”

The elevator stopped on the forty-fifth floor of the building, and when they walked inside the restaurant, even Ancap himself felt like he was underdressed. Floor-to-ceiling windows surrounded the room, and the entire city was visible from up here. To Ancom’s relief, the host seated the two of them away from the windows. 

“Brunch is so weird,” Ancom commented through a mouthful of his avocado toast. “Like, rich people spend so much money on some eggs. It’s kinda wack.” 

Ancap shrugged. “I guess it’s more about the experience than anything else.”

“It’s  _ eggs _ . What is there to  _ experience  _ about eggs, Ancap?” 

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth.”

Ancom glared daggers at him, but they waited to swallow before saying anything else.

Of course, like it often was with Ancom’s rants, Ancap wasn’t the only target. They continued to go on about Nazi, Tankie, and the status quo in general. Ancap was never one to engage in political discourse with any of the other ideologies, seeing as these discussions often lead to  _ someone  _ violating the NAP, and he’s become quite the expert at tuning everyone else out as a result.

After a few minutes of this, Ancom put their fork down. “I’m done eating. Can we go to the balcony?”

Ancap frowned. “I thought you didn’t like heights?”

“Fear is a spook,” Ancom sang, standing up and pushing in their chair. “You’ll catch me if I fall, won’t you?” 

“I mean, I’ll try--”

“Good enough!” They tugged on his sleeve, and Ancap had no choice but to follow along. 

The view was breathtaking, to say the least. The sun was high in the sky by now, and the city was a sea of foggy buildings and fading lights. Ancom, despite their previous bravado, was clinging to Ancap again, their hands squeezing him tight. 

(Ancom had pressed themself against him, and he could practically feel their breath on the skin of his neck. Ancap thought about turning around and kissing them. It wasn’t anything new, really, but it was a Thing.)

“Where should we go next?”

Ancap nudged them. “Where do  _ you  _ think we should go next?”

A smile tugged on Ancom’s lips. “Well, there’s a place I’ve been wanting to take you for a while. I think you’ll like it a lot.” 

They were still clinging to Ancap, but now, they were also tentatively peering over the balcony’s edge. And they looked gorgeous like this, silhouetted against the clear sky, eyes reflecting the sun.

“Right,” Ancap said, trying his best not to stumble or stutter, hiding his flustered expression with a sheepish smile. “Let’s go, then.” 

* * *

Somewhat predictably, Ancap did not actually  _ like  _ the place that Ancom brought him to at all. In fact, since they’ve got here, he hasn’t stopped complaining about all the dust on his suit, or all the broken glass on the ground, or the thick smell of trash and weed in the air. Ancom affirmed that yes, they had been lying, and yes, they knew that he would hate it here. But they also promised that this would be worth his time, begging him to trust them this time. To their relief, Ancap went along with it, albeit begrudgingly. 

Well, Ancom  _ hoped  _ that he would consider it worth his time. But, for the time being, it was kind of hilarious to watch Ancap complain about literally everything. He has always been such a princess. 

“You’re the worst, Ancom,” the free-market enthusiast seethed. “The  _ worst _ .”

“I know,” Ancom said with a laugh, nudging him forward. “Come on! 

They lead him around the scrapyard, around the literal mountains of rusted metal and retired appliances. There was an area that was fairly newer than the rest, an area where most of the abandoned cars looked almost operational, save for a few of them being crushed or smashed. 

Someone had left a crowbar here, leaning against a small pile of tires. Ancom grabbed it and lifted it over their shoulder. 

Ancap looked up at the cloudy sky, at the murder of crows circling the area, and wrinkled his nose. “Remind me, why are we here again?” 

Ancom shot him a grin. There was a baseball bat lying on the ground nearby; It was made from wood, save for the rubber handguard along the bottom. That would prevent Ancap’s precious bourgeois hands from developing calluses. “To smash shit, of course!”

“We wouldn’t be violating anyone’s NAP, would we?” Ancap said with a frown. 

“It isn’t anyone’s private property, Ancap,” Ancom climbed onto an abandoned couch next to the ruined car. They brought the crowbar back behind their head, and then, with a single swing, smashed it into the car’s driver side window. It made a satisfying  _ crash--  _ glass flew everywhere, and Ancap winced. 

“That’s the beauty of it. We can do whatever we want!”

Ancap hesitantly picked up the baseball bat. He whacked it against the hood of the car, but that barely made a dent. "I don't see the fun in this."

"You have to think of something you're angry about. Like uh, I don't know." Ancom scratched their head. "Stock prices plummeting? Your workers unionizing?"

"That is quite infuriating," Ancap agreed.

He concentrated for a moment, then brought the baseball bat down onto the hood again. The metal contracted with a sickening  _ crunch. _

"I hate that Commie always redistributes my bread," he declared and smashed the window into a million pieces.

"If Nazi won't fucking shut up about the 13% thing, I  _ will  _ bash his fucking head in!" With that, Ancom took a swing at the top of the car. The metal crinkled like tinfoil.

At some point, Ancom drew a swastika on another car and smashed it to such smithereens that  _ dust _ would be a generous word with which to describe it. Ancap attempted to do the same with a hammer and sickle, but Ancom joined in with twice the vigor.

"Serves you right," they yelled, denting the part of the car with the picture of the sickle’s blade. "Serves you right for being a piece of shit!"

At this point, Ancom was vaguely aware of Ancap standing back, watching them with an expression something like both mild amusement and adoration.

"Call me  _ kiddy _ one more time!" Crash. " _ One  _ more time!" Crunch _. _

Eventually, as the sun began to set, the two of them fell to the dusty ground, laughing so hard that the crows have long since flown away out of fear. Ancap looked at Ancom for a moment, and they both stopped. Ancap's sunglasses were mounted on his hat, and his eyes were sparkling like the casino lights that lined the streets of Monte Carlo. 

A  _ bang  _ in the distance interrupted their moment of awkward, not-so-awkward silence. Colors exploded into the sky.

"Fireworks?" Ancap squinted at the sky. Another  _ bang _ rang out through the junkyard, followed by another flash of light. "Here?"

"Oh yeah. That happens sometimes." Ancom sighed, leaning into Ancap's side. As if by instinct, Ancap immediately linked their hands together.

“The wackies live over there,” Ancom explained. “Posadist doesn’t have access to nukes, so I guess he thinks fireworks are the next best thing.”

“Well-” The thoughtful look on Ancap’s face sends a rush of genuine horror down their spine.

“Ancap, no.  _ Please  _ don’t sell him McNukes.”

“Alright.” Ancap let out a hearty laugh. “If it’ll make you happy, I guess I’ll suspend my profits.”

“You’re the worst,” Ancom nudged his shoulder, then snuggled closer. “Bourgeois pig.” 

When Ancom had first found this place, they were lost, and also high as shit. The fireworks happened, and they shocked them half to death. With the help of some handy psychedelics, it had looked like mermaids were dancing in colorful waves in the sky, a nuclear firestorm of colors and an overwhelming symphony of unfamiliar sounds. This was the first time they've experienced the fireworks while sober, and to their surprise, it was no less exciting. The fireworks were just fireworks, nothing more than noise and sparks and light, but they were no less thrilling.

Also, they had Ancap by their side this time.

True, libertarian unity often consisted of hanging out while they were both shitfaced and high, but...Ancom didn't know how to explain it, exactly. They felt more sober and awake whenever the other anarchist was around. Their head was clear, and they  _ knew  _ him. While they would never trust Nazi even at gunpoint and while they could never entirely be certain about Tankie's intentions, Ancap was uncomplicated, transparent. Ancom didn't think that he was an  _ anarchist,  _ really, but they understood that on some level, he was on their team. They were a team.

"Come on," Ancom said after a few minutes, suddenly standing up. "I know a great spot to watch them from."

* * *

A single firework whistled as it shot into the sky, and a thousand tiny fragments flew to the ground.

Ancom led Ancap to a sad, rusted school bus situated on a pile of assorted metal scrap, helping him up onto the hood and then onto the roof. Ancom was right this time. From there, the view was quite nice-- the entire sky was open to them. 

“Shooting star!” Ancom called out, pointing at a streak of light in the sky. They were half sprawled out into Ancap’s lap, hoodie pulled over their head, sweater paws dangling at the ends of their sleeves. It was cold out here, but they somehow made themselves appear warm and cozy. 

Ancap squinted, then shook his head. “That came from one of the fireworks, kitten.” 

To that, Ancom pouted, which made Ancap laugh and pet their hair a few times under their hoodie. 

“I made a wish anyway,” they said stubbornly. “Classifying things into arbitrary categories creates an unjust hierarchy of value through the way in which we perceive them.”

“Mm.” Ancap poked their cheek, eliciting a giggle from the other anarchist. “What did you wish for?”

“If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

“Fair enough.”

The fireworks kept going for ten, maybe fifteen minutes. The last one exploded into a splendid repertoire of sparks in the shape of a mushroom cloud-- then, silence. 

Ancap stared blankly at the now-empty night sky, and it took him a hot minute to realize that Ancom was looking up at him. Their eyes were wide, reflecting the few stars that haven’t been erased by the light pollution in the city. Starstruck. After Ancap met their gaze for a few moments, they turned away, flustered.

Ancap couldn’t control his grin. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” Ancom breathed, sitting up and shuffling off of Ancap’s lap.

For a moment, they sat facing each other. Ancap could hardly make out Ancom’s face through the shadow of their hood, but he could tell that their lips were pursed, and  _ God  _ did they look soft. Neither of them knew what to do, what they were waiting for.

“If you kiss me, I’ll tell you what my wish was,” Ancom blurted out, catching Ancap off-guard.

Consent.  _ That  _ was what Ancap had been waiting for. Without a second thought, he dove in, and the Anarcho-Communist’s lips felt just as soft as they had looked. 

“So,” Ancap said after they’ve parted. “What did you wish for?”

Ancom was blushing furiously, and they held up a hand to rub it against their lips, bewildered. Cute, Ancap thought, but his face felt hot. He was likely blushing just as badly, if not worse.

“I- that was my wish,” they admitted. “I wanted to kiss you.” 

“Simp,” Ancap teased, brushing a strand of hair out of Ancom’s face.

“You suck,” Ancom said, gripping the front of Ancap’s shirt. “Kiss me again.” 

And so he did. He felt Ancom smile against his lips.

* * *

The anarchists found their way back to the Centricide house at half-past midnight, giggling and very, very high. Ancom struggled with their keys for over a minute while trying to open the door, mumbling incoherently about open borders. Meanwhile, Ancap wasn’t any better off, tripping over himself when he tried to kick off his shoes. 

“Anarkiddy!” Tankie’s voice has always been the most recognizable out of the four of them. It rang out through the house, syllables tinged with his Russian accent. 

“Ah, Commie! How nice it is to see you again,” Ancap said, lifting his sunglasses. His other arm was wrapped protectively around Ancom’s shoulders, and Ancom’s head rested against the crook of his neck. 

“Where did you take him, Kulak?” The authoritarian leftist demanded, looming over them both. “Anarkiddy, why didn’t you answer any of my texts?”

“Not  _ him _ ,” Ancom mumbled, suddenly standing up straight, trying their best to match Tankie’s imposing stance. 

At this time, Nazi descended from upstairs, grumbling about all the commotion. He was wearing his favorite pair of pajamas depicting cartoon eagles. 

“Oh, good. Are the libtards back?” He said sleepily, taking his place next to Tankie. “Nobody’s thrown any molotovs at my window for the past day. It was starting to get boring.”

“ да ,” Tankie said solemnly, still glaring at Ancap. “The Kulak kidnapped Anarkiddy, but--”

“Hey now, Commie. Let’s not get too heated here.” Ancap stepped between Ancom and both of the authoritarian ideologies. “We went together. Ancom can make their own decisions, and they don’t owe you jack shit. They can take care of themself.” 

He looked back at Ancom. Ancom was smiling back.

Nazi’s eyes widened. “Oh wow. Are you two--” he stopped. “Nevermind. I don’t know why I’m surprised. You’ve always been degenerates.”

“I’m too tired for this discourse,” Ancap declared, gripping Ancom’s hand and pushing past the auths. “Kitten, let’s go to bed.” 

“Rot in hell, statists!” Ancom slurred as they slammed the door to Ancap’s room shut. 

**Author's Note:**

> bonus: take a shot whenever ancap touches ancom's hair or whenever they smile at each other. this is untested and also potentially dangerous


End file.
